


A Changing World

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Mystrade Story Times [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 'sluttish' is used but no sex shaming here, AU, Angry Sex, Bottom Greg, Chapter Two is Greg's POV, Do not post to another site, Dominance, Greg likes it, Hate Sex, He's friendly and oblivious to Mycroft's enmity, I can't help myself, Lestrade runs the swank Sherrinford Inn & Suites, Locked to Archive users, M/M, Mycroft is kinda mean, Mycroft runs his ancient family country inn, Mycroft solves his problems with false civility and an angry make out sesh, Mystrade Story Time, Sex Positive, This isn't really a story, Top Mycroft, but in a nice way?, but with feels, everyone has fun and consents, he respects order and tradition, he's the toppiest, here be sex y'all, honestly its a problem, it's a summary with an end scene lol, loves it actually, new boy in town Greg Lestrade is his arch-nemesis, originally posted on twitter, rage fucking, safe sex, so toppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Mycroft runs his ancient family inn, Musgrave Hall, in the small village he grew up in. He respects order and tradition, and his life is very serene. Until Magnussen Enterprises builds a swank new modern block hotel, The Sherrinford Inn & Suites on the exit to the motorway. Suddenly Mycroft's trade dries up and he has no one to blame but the charming manager of The Sherrinford, Greg Lestrade.Lestrade, however, doesn't seem to recognize that they're sworn enemies. He even comes in to have a drink at Musgrave Hall and chat. Mycroft, every inch the gentleman, treats him with cold civility--until the day his control snaps and he shows Lestrade just how much he loathes him--with his mouth. Lestrade's game, he just wants someplace private to "work it out."
Relationships: Mystrade - Relationship, pre-Mystrade - Relationship
Series: Mystrade Story Times [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1335472
Comments: 36
Kudos: 98
Collections: Mystrade StoryTime





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is...a summary with an end scene? I had these thoughts and posted them to Twitter and now I'm sharing it here. This is not a real story, per se. Maybe I'll write 40k words on this one day, really flesh it out. If anyone is inspired to write this, please feel free and let me know. I'd love to see this tidbit linked if you ever do.
> 
> Edited to note: Due to popular demand on Twitter, I wrote a second, sexy, chapter. Consider this story complete, although I DO have...Ideas(tm) for more. No promises, however!

Mycroft's family has owned a cozy, respectable country hotel for generations--all the way back to the 17th century, when it was a coaching inn. He's steeped in tradition, as is his hotel, and Musgrave Hall definitely reflects that. His life is small but lovely. When Magnusson Enterprises breaks ground just outside the village, near the motorway, he's not unduly worried. Musgrave Hall offers a sense of tradition, order and elegance. Nothing that a flashy, modern block of hotels can match.

But the world has moved on. The Sherrinford Inn & Suites snags weary travelers before they've even had time to move past the exit ramp. They have a bar and grill on premises, so travelers don't even have to venture into the village. Mycroft finds his bookings dropping. To add insult to injury, the General Manager of The Sherrinford is a handsome London man, charming and gregarious. Greg Lestrade doesn't seem to be aware of the enmity with which Mycroft regards him. Mycroft takes it as a personal affront that Lestrade occasionally drops into Musgrave Hall to have a drink and a chat.

Mycroft, every inch the gentleman, is frostily civil. Lestrade doesn't seem to notice. His optimism and cheer infuriates Mycroft. He'd like to throttle the man. He'd like to drop his civil facade, push him against a wall and kiss him stupid. He'd--_oh._ Mycroft moaned, hands clutching tight in Lestrade's shirtfront as their tongues dueled. "I hate you," he ground out, chewing at Lestrade's unfairly alluring lower lip.

"I can see that," Lestrade gasped, greedy hands grasping Mycroft's buttocks. "I feel it," he smirked, pressing Mycroft's erection against his hips.

"Really loathe you," Mycroft gritted, jerking on Lestrade's stupid, gorgeous silver hair and exposing his throat to his teeth. "Insufferable arse. I'd like to bend you over and show you my displeasure."

"We should have dinner first," Lestrade groaned, hitching Mycroft closer. "But right now I'd settle for privacy."

Mycroft faltered, recalled to their semi-public location in the corridor. "My God," he said, dazed, pulling back. "What am I doing?"

"Acting on our mutual frustrated desire, I hope," Lestrade suggested hopefully, adjusting himself. He tilted a bright grin at Mycroft. "Please tell me your room is very near. Or office. Hell, broom cupboard?"

"We're not--we're not having sex in my office," Mycroft managed. He was outraged. Ugh, Lestrade really was the worst. "I hate you," he glared.

Lestrade nibbled on his neck, pushing Mycroft's collar aside with his nose. "Sure," he said agreeably, "But can you hate me in private?"

Mycroft weakened. He glanced down the hall. "Well...my room is just down there..."

Lestrade huffed a soft laugh against his pulse point, "Oh good. Lead on, gorgeous. Seems you've got grievances to take out on me."


	2. Hard Currency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's day had started out normal, yet here he was, being pounded into the mattress by an enraged Mycroft--and liking it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the clamoring of "please, Sav, can we have some more?" from everyone on Twitter, without whom this hate-sex PWP (with bonus Feels!) probably would never have been written. Thanks to Merinda for the beta and confidence boost :)

Mycroft Holmes was bitey and shovey and as damned prickly as a begrudgingly well-mannered hedgehog. He was chewing on Greg’s mouth as furiously as a dog going after a choice bone. Not that Greg  _ minded. _ In fact, it was kind of hot. Alright, very hot.

“God I hate you,” Mycroft snarled, unlocking his door with a furious twist of the old key and shoving it open. He bundled Greg through the door, looking over his shoulder as he followed him, obviously worried someone would see them. Greg felt a bit like a dirty secret. 

He found it surprisingly stimulating.  _ I’m about to be hate-fucked, _ he thought dimly, as Mycroft locked the door with a firm snap of the key and stalked toward him like an avenging spirit, grey eyes blazing. It was not off-putting. Surprising, yes. Most people liked Greg. He was a likeable guy. Mycroft Holmes might be the first person he’d ever met who had carried out a vendetta against him. An unspoken one, to be sure, but a very visible vendetta, none-the-less. Carried on with stiff politesse and unbending animosity all cloaked in impeccable manners during small-town nod-to-you-on-the-street encounters. 

It was part of the reason--aside from being a sociable person who liked to make friends and wanted to settle into the community he’d found himself in--which had led Greg to taking himself into Musgrave Hall’s bar of an evening. It certainly wasn’t for the atmosphere. Place looked like the original owner was mouldering in a dim, cobwebby corner somewhere. Not that Mycroft would allow Musgrave to have cobwebs, but it was that sort of vibe. Probably had ghosts.

Actually that would be amazing!

On any account, Greg had found himself fascinated with Mycroft from the first moment they met. Actually, he’d been horny as a thirsty old cowboy coming into town on a Saturday night after months on the trail. Point him towards whisky and a willing body kind of thirsty. He’d seen Mycroft--though he hadn’t known him as Mycroft then--and unashamedly let his eyes sweep from well-shod feet to neatly barbered curls. Nudging his barman, Mike, Greg had asked him who the tall redhead was. As a local, he knew everyone. Mike had warned that he could introduce Greg but that he’d get a frosty reception. 

Turned out the redhead was technically his competition, since he ran a gracious old pile in the village, Musgrave Hall. It was the type of place grannies stayed when they came to visit, or that Americans would book for a honeymoon. A far cry from the sleek glitter of a chain of upscale hotels like The Sherrinford. They weren’t geared for the same type of clientele at all, and Greg wasn’t entirely certain why Mycroft carried such animosity toward him.

Not that he was at all concerned with that now. No, now he was trying to hold his own against an assault which was making his dick hard as a railroad spike. Mycroft was a whirlwind, tugging on Greg’s hair and biting his neck like a vampire, all whilst tearing--literally  _ tearing! _ \--at his clothes. “Oi,” Greg objected, game but practical, “Try to leave me a few shreds, eh? I don’t mind doing the walk of shame but I’d rather not do it completely starkers.” He grinned, his own hands busy removing Mycroft’s (too many) layers of clothes. “Can’t say I mind the eagerness, though. ‘m pretty curious to see you naked as well. Bet you have amazing legs, I’ve seen you running before dawn sometimes and--”

“You talk too much,” Mycroft said shortly, pushing Greg onto the bed. He jerked at the cuffs of Greg’s trousers, pulling them off roughly. They were only half-undone and Greg yelped when his dick sort of...popped...free. Um,  _ ouch. _

“Bloody hell!”

“You’re still talking,” Mycroft gritted out, glaring at Greg like he’d done him an ancient wrong. “I’ll give you something to keep your mouth occupied.”

_ Fuuuuuck, _ Greg thought, but managed not to say. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been painfully horny and slightly terrified at the same time. It was...bewildering. Grinning, he stroked his dick with one hand and reached for Mycroft’s with the other, opening his mouth obediently.

“Stop beaming at me like a slack-jawed yokel,” Mycroft growled, slapping his hand away. He jerked open a bedside drawer, selected a condom and had it on in mere seconds. His cheeks were blazing with rich color and his eyes glittered furiously. “This is serious.”

“Sorry,” Greg peeped, shaking with amusement. The man was bloody adorable. Also unhinged and sexy as fuck. God, how did he get so lucky?! “Shall I--”

“Shush.” Mycroft knee-walked up the bed, straddled Greg’s body, plopped his arse down on Greg’s chest and waved his dick in his face. “Suck me.”

_ Holyshitholyshitholyshit! _

Eagerly, Greg opened his mouth wide and without ceremony Mycroft crowded into him, thrusting deep. Unable to breathe for a second, Greg gagged slightly, and put a warning hand on Mycroft’s thigh. To his credit, the man stopped, pulling back. “‘m okay,” Greg managed, blinking up him, “Took me by surprise there, big boy.”

Mycroft turned red.

“Alright,” Greg coaxed, licking a broad stripe up the underside of Mycroft’s cock, “Gimme.”

Moving with slightly more restraint, Mycroft guided himself back between Greg’s lips, one hand on his jaw, the pad of his thumb pressed to the underside of his chin, which was hot as fuck. Greg moaned wantonly, trying to suck and lick, even with his mouth full, but Mycroft was too big and his thrusts had picked up pace. He panted, trying to time his breathing, settle into a rhythm. 

Mycroft’s face was still angry, intense, which was doing Things to Greg. Seriously, how had he never known he had such a dominance kink before? His pride was at stake though...Mycroft, all though irritable, looked far too in control of himself.

Hollowing his cheeks, Greg gave him something to think about. Mycroft’s breath left him explosively and he lurched forward, the hand on Greg’s jaw slipping. He braced himself but instead of Greg’s chest his palm straddled his throat. As his breath went tight, Greg’s blood rushed to his groin. He groaned, low and deep, and clutched at Mycroft’s thighs, fingers digging into the flat planes of his arse, trying to pull him deeper.

Before Mycroft could apologize or pull his hand away, Greg made an angry sound and glared up at him, giving a short shake of his head. “No?” Mycroft asked, surprise colouring his voice. He raised an eyebrow, “Supposed to be punishment,” he muttered, but kept a controlling hand on Greg’s throat. Just enough pressure to feel it, to bring an edge of excitement to Greg’s blood, but not enough to seriously endanger him.

Moaning, Greg licked sloppily at Mycroft’s cockhead as he pulled back, almost all the way out. Plunging back in, Mycroft tightened his grip slightly. “Like that?” he asked in that annoyed voice which should not do as much for Greg as it honestly did. He whined, nodding, and Mycroft smirked.

_ Cocky little shit, _ Greg thought with amusement. 

“Enough,” Mycroft gasped after a while, sitting back slightly. He wiped at his sweaty forehead, sending his normally neat hair into total chaos. Greg was pleased to see he was not at all unaffected by what was ramping up into one of his top five sexual encounters...and they hadn’t even gotten that far! “I’ve been fantasizing about bending you over and fucking you until you cry.”

“...fuck me…” Greg breathed, seeing spots. His dick, untouched, was throbbing eagerly. He reached awkwardly down around Mycroft’s body, needing to give himself a little squeeze.

“Eenh!” Mycroft made the sort of noise you’d use to scare your cat away from something and smacked him on the wrist. “I didn’t say you could touch that, did I?”

_ Sir, no sir, _ Greg thought. He nearly said it but at this point wasn’t sure if his mouthiness was paying off in rewards or not. Then again, he was having the hottest sex of his personal decade. “I’m sorry,” he slurred, flexing his jaw--damn, Mycroft had given him a workout! “If you’re going to talk so big you better be able to back it up.”

Narrowing his eyes, Mycroft gave him a snaky look of disdain. Greg nearly giggled in anticipation, which wouldn’t have been manly at all, but would have been honest. He blinked innocently at the other man. “Wanna let me up? I believe you said you wanted to bend me over.”

“...mouthy…” Mycroft stood up, somehow elegant despite his bobbing erection and stupendous nudity. It was a good look on him. Greg swept him with his hungry gaze. A really, really good look. Fuck.  _ I wanna taste every one of those freckles, you madman. _ Laters for that, he decided. He wasn’t going to slow down whatever...this...was.

He slid down off the bed, leaning against the edge of the mattress for a minute when his legs wobbled alarmingly. Steadying himself, he threw Mycroft a challenging grin and turned around, ostentatiously bending over, spreading his arms out to clutch at the footboard and fist his other hand in the bed cover. Chest planted on the bed, head turned to one side, he drawled, “Well…?”

Clutching his arse cheeks in a rather hard grip, Mycroft leaned over him, chest to Greg’s back. For just a tiny, fearful moment he worried that he might try to enter him without ceremony. “You,” Mycroft snarled, biting his earlobe with painful pressure, “Are a menace to humanity.” He dragged his nails down Greg’s thighs as he stood, “An affront to order,” digging his fingers into Greg’s hips he pulled him roughly towards the edge of the bed, adjusting him to his liking, “No respect for  _ tradition.” _

Greg heard him rummaging in the drawer and then the familiar snick of a bottle of lube opening. He breathed out a tiny sigh of relief and suppressed a smile. Mycroft might kinda hate him but he was a gentleman, after all. Breathing deeply, he tried not to tense in anticipation as Mycroft parted his cheeks without ceremony and slipped a finger into him. It burned and he gritted his teeth, determined not to make a sound. Mycroft might not want to exactly hurt him, but he would probably also kinda like knowing he’d caused discomfort, a little humiliation.

Continuing to berate Greg for his lack of respect and his “blatant disregard” for the history of the village and its inhabitants, Mycroft nonetheless took the time to prepare him thoroughly. By the time he’d worked him open enough to more or less comfortably accommodate two fingers, Greg was sweaty, dick rock-hard with need. He nearly whined when Mycroft pulled free. 

He heard the sounds of the lube being dispensed and felt his hole flutter slightly with need as he closed his eyes, biting down on his lip. “I’m pleased to see you’re finally learning,” Mycroft said somewhat condescendingly, “You’re keeping quiet beautifully.” He lined up at Greg’s entrance, but didn’t move forward.

  
Resisting the urge to shove himself backwards onto Mycroft’s dick, Greg raised his head and shoulders a little. Craning to look behind him, he summoned a cocky tone to his voice, “Thought you wanted to make me cry? What’s with making me stay quiet, eh, Mycroft? I think you’re afraid you won’t be able to make me make a--.”

Mycroft leaned over, gripping his hair and pulled him back almost cruelly, bending Greg’s back uncomfortably, “You’ll make noises you’ve never dreamed of,” he promised quietly, and shivers chased themselves down Greg’s spine. He closed his eyes, letting out a thin breath which he refused to categorize as a whine.

“Mycroft…”

“You’ll not even be able to recall my name by the time I’m done with you,” Mycroft promised, brushing his prick teasingly over Greg’s hole, “But I promise you’ll always remember me taking you like this.” Without warning he plunged inside, forcing himself past the ring of muscle and wringing a startled cry from Greg, who bit his cheek in shock. “You’ll remember  _ this,” _ Mycroft grunted, pushing forward steadily. Greg closed his eyes against the sting of tears, overwhelmed at the sensation. It had been goddamned years since he’d bottomed and he was slightly freaked out at how taken, how  _ claimed, _ he felt. “You’ll remember my cock in your arse,” Mycroft growled in his ear, lips just brushing the lobe and inspiring a tremble in Greg’s muscles. “I swear you’ll never be able to do this without thinking of me taking you.”

A definite whimper escaped Greg, who turned his sweaty face into the duvet and opened his mouth in a silent cry for mercy. It didn’t hurt, nothing hurt, except for how exquisite the pleasure was, building inside of him like an inescapable pressure. What he couldn’t stand was how badly he wanted to beg Mycroft--whether for more, or for mercy, he couldn’t say. When he found himself short of breath and chewing on the duvet, he spat it out and reared up to get a deep breath.

Mycroft made an admonishing sound and put one firm hand between his shoulders, pushing a little. “Stay still, Lestrade,” he purred, scratching his nails lightly down Greg’s back, a light sting that grounded him a little. “I’m not done with you.” He moved his hips almost lazily, slowing down from his somewhat furious thrusting. Greg sucked in a shaky breath, scrabbling for composure, grateful for the respite, but sluttishly eager for Mycroft to continue the punishing pace.

“Good,” Mycroft rumbled approvingly, sliding his hand up into Greg’s hair and gripping hard; he pulled his head back a little, like a man trying to control an unruly stallion. “Still.”

“Not a dog,” Greg grumped, but it was half-hearted at best. 

“You’re a cur,” Mycroft reproved coolly, tightening his grip in Greg’s hair and thrusting a little deeper. Greg pressed his lips together, eyes closed tightly; he was getting closer to the inescapable precipice. “A rowdy mutt.”

“Fuck you,” Greg breathed, annoyed. He wiggled a little, but didn’t have enough leverage to do much. “You’re an uptight, mouthy little shit.”

_ “I’m _ not the mouthy one,” Mycroft retorted, pulling nearly out and then pushing forward hard, bottoming out. Lights flickered in the edges of Greg’s vision as Mycroft pressed against his prostate. Mouth sagging open, eyes rolling back, he groaned, trying again to push back.

“Mycroft, please…”

“Next time I shall gag you,” Mycroft commented, sounding only slightly affected. 

How in the fuck was he so calm when Greg was unravelling here?!

“Perhaps I’ve been too kind, too lenient...is rough treatment what you need? Hmm, Lestrade? I did promise to pound you into this mattress until you wept.” Mycroft released his hair and held tightly to Greg’s hips, fucking him hard, spurring whimpers out of Greg with every pass over his prostate. “Do you like that?”

“Yes!” Greg threw his head back. So close. So--fucking--close-- “Yes, fuck, fuck, yes, Mycroft, god, please--fuck me--”

Giving up his taunting, Mycroft held Greg tightly down and pounded into him, relentless and brutal. Unable to help himself, Greg cried out, half pain, all pleasure. His cries didn’t even register as words, just formless pleading. Mycroft fucked him harder, his intensity overwhelming Greg, who came apart with a wail, voice cracking as he sobbed. Pressing his face into the bed he unleashed a yell which rose into a scream as Mycroft pushed deep and held, coming hard, his pulsing throbs milked by the helpless clenching of Greg’s arse.

The hoarse, stuttering sobs gripped Greg for a minute or two, and he barely noticed as Mycroft softened and then carefully uncoupled, stepping away. Slumped down over the edge of the bed, his own cum cooling rapidly under his belly, Greg shuddered. Random quivers quaked his muscles as he came down, and as his sweat cooled on his body, reason tried to return. What in the fuck had he just done?

It was probably bad form to lie drooling in a pool of one’s own spunk, limp as an old bar rag instead of getting up and dressed before leaving. Greg was physically incapable of moving however, so he just lay, eyes mostly closed, trying to summon the energy to leave. He felt the mattress shift as Mycroft rose from where he’d been flopped next to--but not touching--him. There came the sound of a door opening with a faint creak, running water and then Mycroft was back.

The first touch of the warm flannel on his flanks made him flinch, and Mycroft put a firm hand on his back, shushing him. Greg relaxed, surprised and pleased, as Mycroft cleaned the lube from him with efficiency. There was nothing tender about it, but it was surprisingly nice, coming as it did from a man who’d just made him howl like a banshee. Greg hummed a little, then roused himself to thank Mycroft.

Blissful and fucked out, Greg decided that since Mycroft wasn’t throwing him out, he would just lie there for a moment more. Pleasantly exhausted, he began to drift, scarcely aware of the sound of Mycroft moving about, water running. Half asleep, he started when the now chilled flannel was thrown from across the room and landed on his arm with an unpleasant splat. Rolling onto his side, he glared at Mycroft, “What the hell?” Snatching it up and flinging it towards him, he was outraged when the flannel fell limply to the carpet. 

“Are you going to continue to lie in your own filth like an animal or will you come clean yourself properly?” Mycroft demanded bitchily, hands on his hips as he stood in the doorway to an en suite. He was still naked, seemingly completely unconcerned, and his glower was ferocious and judgy. 

“You’re horrible,” Greg groused, standing with as much dignity as he could muster. Which honestly wasn’t much, since the duvet clung wetly to his stomach. Grimacing, he peeled it away and stalked past Mycroft, who chivvied him into the shower stall and shoved him farther in so he could step in after. “Oh, are we bathing together?” He tried to be annoyed, but it was...nice. Wow, Mycroft Holmes, doing something nice. He’d have a plaque made, commemorating the historic moment.

“I’m not sure you can be trusted to bathe yourself properly without supervision,” Mycroft sniped, lathering a sponge ferociously.

“Okay _ \--rude.” _

“You wouldn’t recognize good manners if they bit you on that firm arse.”

Greg lit up, “Firm?” He was grinning widely now, as Mycroft turned pink. “You liked my ‘firm’ arse, did you?” He ran his hands over it suggestively, “I mean, I could tell, but it’s nice to hear.”

“One cannot alter fact,” Mycroft informed him snootily. “It wasn’t a compliment, it was an observation.”

Fluttering his eyelashes madly, Greg crowded him against the wall, “I think it’s a fact that you like my arse.”

“Clearly I do not. I can’t stand anything about you.”

“So that--” Greg waved an airy hand towards the destroyed bed, “--was what? Hate sex?”

Sniffing disdainfully, Mycroft pushed him away and began to scrub rather roughly at Greg’s chest. “It was...a release.” Mouth pursed disapprovingly, he was frowning. It was really cute. Grumpy was a good look on him.

“So you rage fucked me? And now you’re bathing me? Because you need a release?”

“Do you end every sentence with an upward inflection? I’m cleaning you and releasing you back into the wild.”

“Oooh, yeah, scrub my back please,” Greg begged, wiggling happily as Mycroft turned him and attacked his back. “I can never get the middle bit.”

“It shows. You have a zit.”

“Where? I do not!” Greg craned his neck, half turning in a circle, trying to view his own back. 

“Just there,” Mycroft poked at it. “It’s disgusting. You’re disgusting.” He didn’t sound particularly bothered. Greg thought maaaaybe he was beginning to get a handle on Mycroft Holmes and his moods.

“You like me well enough to let me in your bed,” Greg purred, waving his arse at Mycroft; he was fucked out, he wasn’t dead. Apparently condescension really did it for him. Huh.. He put his hand over Mycroft’s where it was running the sponge over his shoulder; trapping it softly, he turned a little. “I know you hate me, or whatever--completely unfounded and unreasonably, by the way--but...do this again?”

Mycroft’s expression was inscrutable, even with water running into his eyes. He blinked, scattering droplets, leaving diamonds behind. Greg thought he’d never seen eyes that particular colour before; they were as unusual as the man himself. “I  _ do _ have further grievances to unleash,” was all he said after an uncomfortable length of silence.

Greg beamed at him, “I look forward to hearing them. Here, bend over, tall boy, lemme wash your hair.” Regarding him as if Greg were a particularly puzzling species of alien, Mycroft bent obligingly, watching him as Greg lathered up his hair. Resisting the urge to boop the man’s nose, Greg winked at him, “When I’m done here I’m going to suck you off.” Mycroft coloured, eyes darkening. “I have a feeling you’ll enjoy seeing me on my knees.”  _ God knows I’ll enjoy it,  _ he thought happily, massaging Mycroft’s scalp and watching smugly as his eyes closed slowly in pleasure.

Funny how hate could look an awful lot like enjoyment.Well they did say love and hate were the opposite sides of the same coin. Luckily he and Mycroft had a lot of currency to spend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This in no way resolves the larger issues at the root of Mycroft's upset, nor the implications of corporations driving family owned businesses out. The issue itself is one I could spend a lot of time on, but to be honest, I just wanted to write something fun and consider it done. That being said, there's no telling if I might come back to this one day. For now, please regard this story as complete. Thank you for all the enthusiasm!


End file.
